Thursday, December 25, 2008

The Big Wheezy

It was a cold morning in a drab city that really knows how to sprawl if you know what I mean. The usual crowd was pretty thin. I suppose some people had better things to do on Christmas eve than hang around a little dive they call the park and ride. Standing on the curb are a few denizens of the dawn and a lonely soul with a bicycle. That's me there, "Pedalin" Paul, bike commuter.

I was waiting in the misty morning for an old aquaintance of mine. A sweet little thing I call "Miss Express". She was a pushy dame that was built like a bus but she could get you where you were going if you catch my drift. The usual crowd was more pleasantly engaged I suppose. Perhaps they had sheep they had forgotten to count or infomercials to watch. Still there were a few of us here doomed to ride the streets of the inner city, searching for meaning in a city lost in smog.

Suddenly out of the night like a stinking electric elephant on roller skates Miss Express was here and ready to take in the lost souls of the corporate conglomerate. I consulted my little black book as to the current situation of a man we'll just call "Captain Nemo" but I didn't have long to look. Miss Express was outdoing herself today. She had all the vigour of a spurned woman for all the fickle fairweather commuters who had deserted her on this chilly morning. In her fury she got me to my destination faster than usual. As She sped off into the night I wished her luck and all the guys she could handle in the year to come.

The deck park is a lonely place in the dusk of early morning. Homeless folks lay in cocoons around the supports holding Central avenue above. Unfortunately, no positive metamorphosis awaits them upon waking. The lights of the skyskrapers shine in the sky welcoming a new day and a million tasks laid out for the nameless masses soon to collect like a hive of smogged bees. I pedaled off into the gathering twighlight. I was searching for the elusive "Mr. Job".

I hadn't frequented this town much but rumors of where I might find "Mr. Job" pointed me in this direction. He was lurking in the shadows of an area code named "Piestewa Peak". The local propietors still refer to it by it's former alias of squaw peak. I suppose "Mr. Job" preferred the anonymity of a location unsure of a name. No matter what the reasoning was, I had found "Mr. Job" after many long weeks of searching and today I would find out what makes him tick.

Alas but "Mr. Job" had a few tricks up his sleeve. Apparently he too was aware it was Christmas Eve and cut me loose at noon, sending me out alone with my bike, like a lone sailor on a borderless sea. Having dealt me a mystifying blow I didn't know how to act other than to head back to the inner city no longer asleep.

I searched for Miss Express but finding no gentleman in need of mobility she had abandoned the area until the commuters of the evening came out in search of a good ride if you get my meaning. Questions hit me like plates thrown one after another into a brick wall by a six year old. Where was Miss Express? Why was Mr. Job being nice to me all of a sudden? How many dames around here knew about a little dive called the park and ride? What kind of joint could sell me a device to control Batman in an amusing way hour after hour but was familiar with a gentleman called "Mr. USB"?

Suddenly, in front of the Bus Depot a rather short little Lady sauntered through the intersection. She gave me a look as if to say, "come over here big boy, I'll take you home tonight". I could see she was a pushy dame. I had heard of her before. The boys who knew called her the "Red Line". I knew she'd take me home, the question was who's home. Having no other choices I took her line. She'd lured many a man off the street by the looks of her clientelle.

They were a vast collection of motley types. I sat next to a Lady who had a mouth like a sailor, a body of a manatee, and the breath of a tailpipe. Miss Red Line had none of the class of Miss Express I found. She kept stopping every block to see who else wanted a ride on the Red Line.

By the time we reached Mesa I had had enough of Miss Red Line and her entourage so I cast her off like a crumpled up piece of Christmas wrapping. I watched her leave into the afternoon. Alone, I surveyed my situation. It was time to dig out my old friend "Mr. Bike" again. I recently had acquired "Mr. Bike" in anticipation of my pursuit of "Mr. Job" to the big city. He was a bit on the heavy side but he got the job done. Then, as I was riding "Mr. Bike", the answer hit me like a ton of bricks. If anyone knew of a way to control Batman and was cruel enough to force labor on Christmas Eve, it must be old man Walmart.

Old man Walmart was a difficult place for "Mr. Bike" though. Lots of envious eyes roamed around him like jackals surrounding the slaughter. Fortunately for me "Mr. Bike" had a few features he hadn't counted on. I would soon have Mr. Bike folded up into a shopping cart and left the enhungered jackals upon the doorstep. Perusing the endless maze of old man Walmart's location I stumbled upon the answers to my questions. The controller was here and he would work with "Mr. USB" with a little something for his troubles of course! The mystery solved, nothing was left but to take "Mr. Bike" home and wait to unwrap Batman in the morning and show him who the boss was.

Case closed, I sat back and toasted old man Walmart with the holidays first indulgance. A small bottle of Shamrock's finest Egg Nog. It was tough stuff, but then again, I'm a tough guy, "Pedalin" Paul, Bike Commuter.

1 comment:

Bruce's Bike Blog said...

You need to bottle those exhaust fumes, and sell on e-bay, Man!